A Turn of a Card
by Arwensong
Summary: Ray gets into trouble on a trip to London and this time it's up to Florian to do the rescuing!
1. Chapter 1

"**TURN OF A CARD"**

**Chapter One**

"Florian, you have to come! Hurry!"

Florian looked up from his book. Laila looked as upset as he'd ever seen her. That was saying a great deal, given the adventures Ray had taken all of them on, none more than her. This was supposed to be a relatively quiet trip to London, a vacation to make up for the less than relaxing trip to the German branch of Florian's family. That little excursion had almost led to his and Laila's death by entombment. As he remembered how calmly Ray's loyal follower had taken that misadventure, Florian's heart started to race and he jumped up, his book forgotten.

"What is it, Laila? Where is Ray? Is he hurt? Kidnapped? It isn't..." He couldn't even say the name but he didn't have to, the haunted look in his eyes said it for him.

The small dark-haired woman answered with some sympathy, although no lessening of her own urgency, "No, it isn't Azura, but Ray needs you at once. He's being, oh, you know, he is being Ray, and if you don't do something fast, he's going to lose everything! In a stupid card game! You have to stop him, Florian! None of the rest of us can get in because we aren't proper gentlemen, but you can...you can go anywhere, right? Ray said so."

Not necessarily, Florian thought to himself. What had set off their latest argument was that Florian had been welcome by many more of Britain's aristocracy than Ray had been. Still, Florian knew that the highest sticklers would have no compunction about closing their doors even to a Duke, if his title were as tarnished as Florian's was at present. The difference was, he had no desire to mix in such company and would be happy to spend his time in museums and theaters. It was Ray who was adamant about them being accorded respect by everyone, and who recognized no man as his social inferior. He refused to acknowledge that there were some things money couldn't buy. Ray had been especially annoyed that because his wealth was associated with business, not to mention that his particular occupation was the unsavory one of moneylender, it carried with it that most dreaded "smell" to the British upper class— that of the "merchant". Doors were closed to handsome, well-read, fluent in several languages, absolutely brilliant Ray that were open to the blond, mainly ornamental Florian, who, as far as anyone knew, did absolutely nothing, nothing being a perfectly acceptable pastime for a gentleman. Indeed, it galled Ray that he would probably be better received as his alter ego Noir, the master thief, than as a common usurer. The former was intriguing, the latter, tasteless.

Money and lineage would get you only so far among England's upper crust; impeccable manners and good breeding were also pre-requisites. Ray's brusque manners were not especially winning ones for the ballrooms of London. Florian's family may have lost their money, but they clung to the trappings of their breeding like...well, not like leeches as it was those trappings that sucked their life's blood from them and not vice versa, Florian had often mused. Going into debt to support a lifestyle one could no longer afford was actually a time honored tradition among the highest class of people in both England and France. So was selling your children to the highest bidder to support such a lifestyle and save the family home. Normally it was daughters who were sacrificed on the altar of duty to family, but occasionally a son was married to the daughter of a lesser born man with money but no title, who had an ambition to social climb that he was willing to purchase by way of a generous marriage settlement. Of course, the son of noble birth didn't commonly go to a purchaser of the same gender, but the upper class was good at closing its eyes to unsavory details. The fact that Ray was nominally family made the sale aspect of Florian's situation something easily ignored by those who chose to ignore it. Florian didn't have much, but he was impeccably trained in the ways of high society and always knew the right thing to say or do in any social gathering to any level of person, royalty on down to chimneysweep. His mother may have made questionable choices, but they were acceptable ones in the eyes of her class, even when it came to selling her only son to save the Estate.

Ray's mother, on the other hand-- running off to make a love match with a man who was not approved by her parents-- and worse, whose claim was to a title that was not only foreign but disputed--was less forgivable. Love matches were not the done thing, and Arabs were even more disputable than the French! They weren't even Christian; indeed, the average English society matron wasn't quite sure what they were. All of this contributed to Ray's less than effusive welcome into the London social whirl. Florian, with his contacts from his past life, his beauty, his high rank, and his quiet good manners, was a hit. Ray was much less so, despite his own darkly handsome good looks, which were thrilling to the ladies, but disturbing to their men. Florian was clearly "safe" to dance with their daughters and wives...Ray was just as clearly deemed "not safe". More than one young debutante was swept away from his presence with a flimsy excuse. It wasn't that Ray was interested in such silly young women...or even their jewels...it was the insult to his character that had him fuming.

Florian could kick himself. He should have known Ray was headed for trouble. The younger man's pride was such that he could never bear to be second in anything. Last night they had gone to a ball at the French Ambassador's home and while His Grace, the Duke de Rochefort was solicited by the hostess to dance with one debutante after another, Ray was rebuffed as only the British upper class can do. Smiling pleasantly and painfully polite the entire time, they made you feel as though you just soiled your pants in Church, but _they _were far too well bred to comment on it.

As he quickly donned clothes suitable for the men's club where Laila told him he could find Ray, Florian thought about the argument the two of them had engaged in the night before, upon their return to the well appointed townhouse they had hired for the season in Oxford Street, not far from Green Park for riding, as well as the theatres that Florian enjoyed.

"I didn't enjoy dancing with those simpering young girls, Ray, you know that! They were merely duty dances. My father was friends with the ambassador. Naturally his wife wanted to introduce me to young ladies of her acquaintance thinking that I would be looking for a wife."

Florian had stopped at that unfortunate comment; the explanations weren't helping as Ray's glower proved.

"_Naturally_ you didn't think to disabuse her of that notion, did you, my dear Florian?" Ray spoke silkily. "Doesn't she realize your finances are such that you are in no condition to entertain thoughts of matrimony...even if you were so inclined? Are you so inclined, my lovely Amethyst?" Ray moved like a cat...a large panther like cat, as he circled Florian's slimmer form.

"Of course not! What would I do with any of them? I was just being polite. It wouldn't hurt you to try it some time, you know."

"I do believe it would. Hurt me, that is. To act as a lapdog for these pampered society girls as you do, fetching their lemonade and picking up their dropped handkerchiefs...I never saw so many dropped pieces of cloth. Do you think they enjoy watching you bend over as much as I do, sweet Florian? I believe some of their brothers did."

Ray felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the flush come to Florian's pale face, erasing the last traces of pleasure in his evening with old friends. Then he grew angry at Florian for making him feel guilty. He knew the sensitive man hated being reminded that he roused feelings of lust in men, and that he was viewed as an object. The two of them had moved past that point, except when Ray felt the need to reassert himself, as he did now for some reason he didn't care to examine too closely. He knew that neither of them, least of all Florian, cared to dance with any young females, but it was the principle of the thing. Ray was the wealthy Master, Florian was the penniless possession who owed his life to Noir's inexplicable fondness for a certain semi-precious gem. Or so it would seem.

The relationship between the two men wasn't that simple, as Laila had come to realize, to her chagrin. There was a power and nobility in Florian's character that his amethyst eyes only hinted at, and a beauty in his soul that his face and form, lovely as they were, merely hinted at but could never truly match. An event like the Ambassador's ball brought home to Ray Balzac Courland how truly unworthy he was, wealthy Count or not, for a gem such as his Amethyst.

Agreeing with an unpleasant truth doesn't make that truth more palatable. The fact that he knew that Florian did not believe Ray inferior in any way didn't help; to Ray, that was just further evidence of the other man's nobler nature. It made him harsher than he had been in a long time with Florian and he rejected every attempt the blond made toward peace. Finally, Florian's even temper had enough and he stormed off to his own room.

Ray toyed with the idea of forcing his way into Florian's bedchamber. How dare he lock his door to his Master? He was lucky this hired house didn't come with a cellar, he shouted at the closed door, knowing that Florian would be mortified at the fancy London butler who came with the house over-hearing the threat. Florian had already asked Ray to please watch what he said in front of the London servants. Knowing his behavior was childish, Ray stormed off to his own room. Getting the last word was cold comfort when he would much rather have taken Florian's warm body to bed than a cold bottle of whiskey.

Ray was in a foul temper when he left the townhouse on Oxford Street that morning, forgetting all about the ride in the Park on which he was supposed to accompany Florian. Laila had followed him surreptitiously. The whole household had overheard the fight between the two men. It was a sign of how disturbed he was that he didn't notice her tailing him, she thought. Laila was good, she should be, the man she was following had taught her everything she knew. But Noir was the best and she couldn't remember a time she'd ever been able to follow him without him knowing it within five minutes and letting her know that he knew. The boss was troubled, that was for certain. She wished they'd never come to this damp, gloomy London. They'd done it to cheer up Florian and pick up a few items along the way. From what she could tell, however, the blond was just killing time, waiting to go home, and Noir was beating his head against a brick wall, trying to fit in with these cold, stuffy Brits.

"Courland!"

Ray turned. A tall auburn haired man in a well cut suit raised his hand to him from across the street. Seeing Ray stop, the man quickly strolled across, dodging between the few motorcars that were passing by to join Ray on the sidewalk.

"I thought that was you. Do forgive me for bellowing across the pavement like a jarvey. We met last night at that crushingly boring Ambassador's ball. Twiningham, Del's m' name, Rochefort introduced us, but I doubt you remember. He was doing the duty dances with m' sisters, poor chap, and we got to relax with the bubbly. I take it he is still sleeping it off, resting from all that exertion?"

The man had an amused quirk to his well cut lips and Ray felt his hand reach out to shake the gloved one proffered to him. This was the first friendly Brit he'd met. He readily accepted the invitation to join the man for lunch and some cards at his club. It just went to show that Florian wasn't always right. Not everyone was snobby here in London. Perhaps this man's parent's were stiff necked but this fellow, heir to a Earldom, if Ray recalled correctly, was perfectly pleasant. The club they went to wasn't on Bond Street, where Florian's father's club was, but instead was on a side street Del showed him that was reminiscent of some of the dark streets he'd known as a boy in Morocco.

When Ray hesitated a moment before going into the club, which was guarded by a large man that Del cheerfully told him was a former professional pugilist, the cheerful young nobleman threw his arm over his shoulder.

"Come on, I can't believe a man of the world such as you would be concerned about our little club that we have for kicks. If you are, we certainly can go to m' father's club, White's or one of the other boring places for lunch and a nice hand of bridge. I just thought you'd like something a little more _exciting_. This club isn't for everyone, you know."

Ray looked at the young man, whose eyes were gleaming. He raised his own brow in inquiry.

"And just what is the name of this exciting club?"

Laila, hiding behind some trash bins a few yards away had to strain her ears to hear the answer.

"Why, welcome to the Hellfire Club, my dear Courland."

"So what happened next?" Florian quizzed Laila as the two of them hurried along the darkening streets to the ill-fated club.

"I waited a little bit but when Noir didn't come right back out, I got worried. I managed to sneak my way into the back of the place and got in by the kitchen."

Florian looked at the young woman, torn between admiration and incredulity. The things she did boggled the mind. He debated whether it was worth pointing out the risk she took, and what could have happened to her if she were to have been discovered by the type of men who no doubt ran this type of place...and decided she doubtless knew more of such risks than he did.

"What then?" He quickened his pace, but slowed fractionally when he saw how hard it was for the tired girl to keep up with his longer strides. She'd had a rough day, he realized sympathetically. Once he got Ray out of this jam, he was going to kill him, he promised himself.

"It took me a while to discover where Ray was...it's a big place. But I was able to find some spare waiter clothes so I dressed like a serving boy and with my hair short like this and the loose white shirt and baggy trousers which is what they all wear, I was able to get into the room where he was. It was weird, Florian. I mean, the room Noir was in was perfectly normal looking, a regular men's club, but not all of the rooms were like that. In some of them, it was more like the kind of place you'd find back in Morocco. In a few of the rooms, some of the men...they were smoking opium right there in the room! And hashish! These fine English gentlemen! And they didn't just have girls in the upstairs rooms. They had them downstairs, too. Plus they had boys in the room, half dressed!"

Florian tightened his lips. He'd heard of such practices in a few of the clubs in Paris and knew they existed here in London too. Bored rich men playing at being bad. Some of them weren't playing at it. "Where was Ray?"

"He was involved in a card game with this older man...a very different type of man than that fellow he met on the street. I think the first man was the one who brings young men to the place for this other man, because when Ray was playing cards against the first man, he kept winning...and drinking some. Not too much, but more than he usually does. Then this other man joined in and at first Ray was winning, but then he started losing. A lot. I couldn't stay in the room the whole time, but in the time I was there, Noir had lost a lot of money. That's when I thought I'd better get help. Because even worse, I don't think it was Noir's money that the man was after, Florian. I heard the younger man, Twiningham, tell someone that Mayles would soon have the wager he wanted on the table, that Courland's money would have to run out soon, and then he would have to bet the emeralds. You don't think they mean emeralds the way...well...I mean..."

"You mean the way Ray has always meant his Amethysts?" Florian was glad the young woman at least looked abashed. She was essentially asking Florian to save her Master from Florian's fate. "Oh, stop looking like that," he snapped at her. "I'm rushing to his aid like this because I know what it feels like to have someone barter for you. I wouldn't want that to happen to Ray, even if it is through his own stupidity. But what in the world made him do such a thing? This is so unlike him! He never drinks so much he forgets what he's doing."

"Maybe he was just trying to fit into your world? Did you ever think of that?" Laila stopped, hands on her hips, her temporary embarrassment over. "He came here to make you happy! He goes to those stupid balls and society functions for you! Not for him! He doesn't even steal anything because he doesn't want to make you unhappy! And what do you do? You flaunt it in his face that you are the more accepted one, that his background isn't as good as yours!"

"No! I didn't do that. I was just trying to explain!" Florian stared at the small woman, aghast.

"Since when has Noir ever needed anything explained?" she huffed. "He knew all of that going in; he was just doing his best for you. One of the reasons he came here was so that you could be on top, away from all of the rumors and innuendos that follow you in Paris, and sure, it bothered him more than he expected it to that such a fuss was made over you. But maybe all he needed was to know he was still on top with you. He didn't need to have the door slammed in his face when he was feeling bad already. For Allah's sake, Florian, you're a man. You should know what they're like and how to handle one!"

This time it was Florian who stood still, appalled at his own behavior. He'd been so caught up in the social whirl over the past couple of weeks that he'd pushed Ray to the side. Perhaps he had been enjoying being the one on top just a little bit? No, he'd been enjoying it a lot, and he'd been condescending in his explanations to Ray, which hadn't been needed after all. Laila was completely right. He knew how rash Ray could be when he was hurt and angry. He must have gone into the Hellfire Club planning to turn the tables on Del for what he thought was an ill-advised attempt to take advantage of him, never guessing that there was a well planned conspiracy behind it. Well, two could play that game, Florian thought, angry at Del for leading his lover into trouble. To think that he had danced with each of the man's ugly sisters...twice!

"Let's get into that infernal club and get Ray out of there."


	2. Chapter 2

**TURN OF A CARD **

**Chapter Two**

Florian didn't see Lord Twiningham on Bond Street, but it occurred to him that the bouncer at the Hellfire Club was unlikely to know that. He knew from Del's chatterbox of a youngest sister that the young heir to the Twiningham fortune was expected to squire his mother and sisters to yet another society function that evening. Thus, he was unlikely to be at the Club still. Counting on this, the elegant blond stood confidently at the doorway to the Club.

Presenting his calling card to the burly doorman, Florian looked down his straight nose and instructed the man in his lightly accented English, "Advise Lord Twiningham that the Duke of Rochefort is here." Florian's austere gaze at his surroundings conveyed the unspoken message that he was not impressed with the building, the neighborhood, the former pugilist, the pugilist's place of employment, and had little expectation of the pugilist repeating his spoken message correctly, but that it was his lot in life to have even his low expectations forever unmet.

If Laila weren't so concerned over Noir, the sight of Florian being so perfectly rude would have reduced her to giggles. Even Noir wasn't _that_ arrogant! She hadn't noticed the cane he flourished before now but it made quite an impression on her as he tapped it impatiently on the step while the ugly man with the cauliflower ear examined his card. The large man bowed as obsequiously as a man of his bulk could.

"Come right this way, yer Lordship, I mean, yer Honor..." The man's ruddy face grew even redder as he strove to recall the proper form of address for a Duke. "Yer Grace...that's it!"

Florian nodded infinitesimally, an ironic look on his face. "I take it I have been deemed acceptable to enter your fine establishment? My servant will take my hat, thank you, my good man." He quickly handed his hat and cane to Laila, who was dressed now in the garb of a private young servant boy. Florian knew he wouldn't be able to shake her from his side and decided it would be better for both of them if she were to be the personal servant of a Duke rather than disguised as just another servant in a gambling house of shady repute. His title offered ostensible protection to her. Meanwhile, her fighting skills offered very real protection to him should matters become less than cordial. If he knew this type of place as he thought he did, however, the dealings should be all very gentlemanly in their underhandedness. But, better safe than sorry.

Many a young nobleman lost his fortune and his honor in a gaming hell such as this one. Both his father and his godfather had warned him of such places when he was just entering his teens. Florian knew that among his social circle, if such a thing were to happen as for a young nobleman to gamble away his fortune, the only "honorable" thing left for such a man to do was to kill himself. Thus, he was told, the way was left open for a better man to inherit, assuming there was anything left to inherit. Many a widow and orphan was paupered due to gambling debts, which were considered "debts of honor" that had to be paid; much more so than any debt to a merchant or tradesman, who no doubt needed the money far more than some cardsharp. Indeed, many of these so called "debts of honor" were paid to less than honorable men who made a living preying upon the innocent and gullible young men of society, either misleading them as to the level of their own skill, or outright cheating if necessary. To prevent such a fate, Florian's godfather, who had been a bit of a rogue, endeavored to teach young Florian the facts of life of their world and also how to be skilled enough to recognize the cheaters, and to win against most other players.

The Rocheforts no longer had a fortune by the time Florian came of age, but as his godfather had bluntly told him years earlier, there were some things that men wanted just as much as the gold from a pretty young man's pockets.

"It's all the same to me how a man wishes to spend his money or his pleasure, young Florian." Uncle Etienne had winked at the teenaged boy. "But you want it to be on your terms, which, given the way your parents are, is going to be hard enough, mon petit. So, it's up to me to see that you have a fighting chance against the other bloodsuckers that are out there...your mother and father I can do nothing about, I'm afraid. Especially your mother. I wasn't able to save your father from her, so I doubt I've any chance of saving you from her schemes, although I'll try, mon petit, I'll try."

Alas, his godfather went missing some time after that conversation; lost during one of his adventures to the East. Thanks to his tutelage, however, Florian was an expert in most games of chance, especially cards. As he was ushered into the opulently decorated room, his face a mask of well bred boredom despite his inner anxiety, Florian gave inward thanks for those hours of lessons, as well as for his mother's strict instruction in the proper demeanor for a duke under all circumstances–which, while it didn't specifically cover gambling hells, was detailed enough to cover high brow dens of iniquity in general. It often occurred to him that had he not been quite so willing to martyr himself for his family's pride, he could have had a successful career as a card sharp. As it was, due to his maternal uncle's dastardly deeds, his "sacrifice" didn't save his mother or his ancestral home. But, it did bring Ray into his life. Funny how life works out, he mused as his card was taken in to the Club's owner.

Florian instructed Laila to wait for him in the small room that adjoined the main gambling room and told her not to lose his hat and cane. She scowled at what she thought was an unnecessary reminder, until he whispered that the innocent looking cane had a thin but deadly rapier secreted inside it. He didn't anticipate needing it, but his time with Noir had taught him that it helped to be prepared for the unexpected. The cane had been a gift from his godfather.

Within minutes, a very slender, very stylishly dressed man came out to greet him. To Laila's surprise, the man appeared to be wearing make-up. Staring more closely, she saw that it wasn't a man at all, but a woman! In a man's suit, with heels, slicked back hair and a cigarette holder! Unlike Laila, who was attempting, successfully, she felt, to pass as a boy, and made no attempt to look feminine, this creature was deliberately trying to blend the genders. This was an extremely odd place, Laila thought, confused, wishing they were home. She looked at Florian, to see what he thought of the strange man/woman, but his face still wore that well bred look of boredom.

"Your Grace, it is an honor for our establishment to enjoy your patronage...but I am sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings. Your friend, Lord Twiningham has been called away...let me be so bold as to introduce myself. I am Adrian, the host for this evening. Perhaps we can find other congenial company and entertainment for you? A game of cards? A glass of wine to refresh you while you decide?"

"That would be pleasant, Adrian, thank you. A glass of port would be acceptable. I see a good friend of mine, Court Courland, but I do not believe I am familiar with his companion...?"

Florian made himself appear to look interested in the man sitting opposite his Ray when in fact his only concern was in seeing how his lover fared. A brief glance was enough to tell him all was not well. While Ray's face looked as calm as ever, the straight set of his shoulders bespoke problems. Ray was unusual in that when he was having trouble controlling himself, it was reflected in even better posture. Indeed, the few times Florian had been in his company when Ray had been intoxicated, the younger man had spoken with the clearest of diction and walked and sat with the straightest posture imaginable. Very similar to his posture now, Florian realized, with a sinking feeling. He turned his attention back to the androgynous creature before him.

The gleam of avarice was shining in Adrian's oddly colored, almost golden eyes. "I am sure that Lord Mayles would be pleased to meet you, Your Grace, especially if you are already acquainted with Count Courland. They are coming near the end of their play, I believe. They've been at it for some time."

"Perhaps I can convince them to take a break and enjoy a glass with me," Florian said lightly. "Could I impose on you to bring a bottle of your best port and three glasses to the table, my dear?" He smiled his best smile, generating a responsive smile. Of course, he thought cynically, whether her warmth was due to the charm of his smile or the thoughts of the money she hoped her house would win from him was up to debate. But either way, she was ordering a servant to bring the port quickly and leading Florian directly to his goal.

"Gentlemen, Lord Mayles, Count Courland, may I interrupt your game for a moment please? Your Grace, I believe you know Court Courland, and I have the pleasure of introducing the Earl of Mayles. Lord Mayles, His Grace, the Duke de Rochefort."

"Courland, Mayles." Florian accepted their bows with a nod of his head and his brief smile. He deliberately acknowledged Ray first, just to see if Mayles would reveal any reaction to the faux pas, but he didn't. Mayles was a tall, broad shouldered man, with an aquiline nose, high cheek bones and thin lips. Looking at him objectively, Florian thought he could be considered handsome in a cold way. Florian realized that the man was looking at him just as appraisingly. Florian noticed that Ray's usually keen eyes seemed slightly unfocused, the pupils in his eyes so large that the emerald green barely showed. Drugs in the wine rather than a surfeit of wine, Florian thought grimly. They aren't leaving anything to chance here. Ray must have proved too shrewd a card player for them. He was relieved that Ray hadn't been so upset that he forgot his usual caution that was so much a part of who he was.

The servant brought the wine. With a smile, Florian requested a pitcher of water as well. Mayles cocked an eyebrow at him as they raised their glasses but he ignored the question inherent in the man's expression for the moment.

"I propose a toast," Florian said with a smile around the table. "To new friendships, and old." He gave Ray a suggestive smile and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs as he sipped from his glass. Mayles glanced at him, surprised. Ray locked eyes with him and a flash of Noir appeared in his smoky green eyes. Good, Florian thought, he's not too far gone despite whatever they've done to him.

"I take it you and Courland are very good friends, Your Grace," Mayles inquired, his voice deep and silky.

Really quite pleasant for a bad guy, Florian thought, sarcastically. He placed his glass on the table. "Quite," Florian agreed. "Please, call me Rochefort. But what are you playing? Is it possible for a third to join in? I love...games."

"We are playing piquet. I believe we have one more hand before all is decided. Isn't that right, my dear Courland? Quite a stake it is too, those lovely Emeralds for all that you've lost? Once that is determined, Rochefort, I am sure you and I can reach an accord. You seem to have a fine pair of Amethysts..."

"Ah, but they are not mine to barter away, Mayles. I have something else I intend to wager...I must confess, however, that I am partial to piquet...Courland...Ray... would you and Mayles be interested in a little side bet...to determine if I can take over your hand and seat at the table?"

Ray frowned, his focus almost completely lost. "Florian...I don't..." He lifted his hand to his head and rubbed it across his eyes, trying to clear them. He lifted his eyes to Florian again, recognition clear for a moment. "Florian, what...?"

"Let me roll the dice, Ray...and we shall decide who plays, is that okay with you? My ring against ...what do you wager, Mayles?" Florian's voice remained light as he turned towards his opponent, placing his heavy gold signet ring, with its center cut sapphire on the table.

The man's cold grey eyes brightened with lust as he looked from the blond Florian to the dark haired Ray, who was barely able to keep upright in his seat. Adrian had overdone the narcotic in the wine, Mayles thought, with a smirk. But the blond looked too innocent to realize anything was amiss. "I believe I will accept that, since our friend Courland is clearly feeling under the weather. So, as a show of good faith, I'll permit you to take over his seat, forfeit this hand and start fresh. Is that acceptable? If you win the roll of the dice, that is. But the next game still has his Emeralds at stake, as well as, shall we say, his Amethysts, to sweeten the pot, in exchange for the rest of the winnings?"

Florian smiled. He held the dice in his hands; weighted, as he suspected. He tossed them lightly from hand to hand as he held Mayles eyes, seemingly weighing his offer, but what he actually was doing was weighing the dice, and determining what numbers they were set to fall on most often. He knew that weighted dice were generally set to fall as ones, or snake eyes, double sixes, or a mix of the two, and produce a "lucky seven." Moving the dice to one hand, he loosened his tie with his free hand and smiled again at the older man as the grey eyes shifted to the long slim line of Florian's graceful neck. Florian teased his hand along his throat as he loosened the first couple of buttons of his formal ruffled shirt.

"It is quite warm in here, isn't it? It's why I requested the water...I get so hot playing cards," he confided to the other man. "Perhaps you could find out what is keeping the man...?" He let his voice trail off.

Mayles looked eagerly at the inches of pale skin Florian had exposed and then over at Ray.

"Leslie! Where is his Grace's water? Bring it immediately" Mayles looked back over at the two younger men. "Perhaps Courland would feel more comfortable if he were to loosen his tie as well?"

"Ah, perhaps..." Florian nodded agreeably, although he was fuming inside. The older man was practically drooling, he thought. But, the more distracted he was, the more advantageous it was for Florian. As Mayles left to hurry the servant with the water, Florian leaned over and removed the tainted wine glass from Ray's hand and under the guise of removing his tie and loosening his collar, he whispered in his lover's ear. "Please don't do anything to interfere, Ray...you've been drugged by our dear friend here. Laila is waiting in the anteroom...we'll have you out of here in no time, just sit tight."

Ray clasped Florian's hands with his; his eyes a dark mossy green as they looked deep into Florian's. "I've lost, Florian, everything," he whispered desperately. "Don't play with this man. You can't win. You must leave now. The money isn't important."

"No, Ray, I'm not leaving without those 'Emeralds' you so foolishly bet. So let me get into this game and win them back for you...I may not be the connoisseur that you are, but I'm partial to those particular gems of yours."

Ray's response was cut off by the return of their companion, followed by the servant with a pitcher of ice water and fresh glasses as well as some other refreshments. Florian smiled sweetly at the Earl and made a point of drinking slowly from the glass of water, which tasted normal. He nodded for the servant to pour a glass for Ray as well. He managed to place his wine glass directly in the unknowing servant's way so that he knocked it over as he was pouring the water, much to the poor man's dismay and Mayles' anger. Several other gentlemen looked over as the peer berated the man for his clumsiness until Florian intervened, in his gently humorous way.

"Indeed, the wine was not all that much to my taste anyway, my dear Mayles. Shall we roll the dice at last and see if I can continue in my friend Courland's place...I am so very fond of piquet. I played it quite a few times when in school with the most charming fellows."

Mayles settled back in his seat, from which he had half risen in his temper, and his cool smile returned to his face. "It does seem that it would be a shame if you were not to enjoy a game now in that case. Do you wish to call then?"

"I think I feel lucky today...so lucky seven should be it for me, but with emeralds and amethysts at stake, I think I shall call it at...ones...for snake eyes, you must realize."

Florian smiled disingenuously as he released the dice, and indeed the two dice rolled to a stop at ones, causing Florian to give the table, and indeed, the room a delighted smile.

"I do believe this roll goes to me, my dear Mayles...but the night is young...and there are so many games that are fun to play. Don't you agree?" Florian made a show of letting the tip of his tongue dip into the cool water of his glass and then wet his lips slowly. Mayles watched avidly. He gave a half smile as Florian reached out to retrieve his signet ring and slip it back onto his finger.

The older man drawled, "Well, it looks as though you are quite versatile at a few games, Rochefort. Shall we try a few others or shall we get right down to playing piquet?"

"Oh, piquet, to be sure. Shall we say, best out of three hands? Winner takes all?"

"It's a deal."


	3. Chapter 3

**A TURN OF THE CARD**

**Chapter Three **

As Florian commenced playing against the man who had trapped Ray so easily, Mayle's earlier victim struggled to follow the cards. Ray didn't know who he wanted to punish more–Mayles for drugging the wine when he proved too difficult to beat at cards fairly–or himself for letting down his guard in the first place in the mistaken belief that "gentlemen" would never stoop to such dirty tricks. Neither, he finally decided. He'd punish Florian for exposing himself to such danger in this crazy attempt to save Ray. The dark haired man almost snorted at the idea of gentle Florian rescuing him; sheer worry would end up killing Ray long before this card game ended. He couldn't handle just sitting there, helpless, while Florian played with fire, teasing the big, dangerous man and ignoring the cards. Hell, it seemed like he barely even knew how to play piquet, judging from his terrible discards. What was his Amethyst hoping to achieve?

Ray fought to keep upright in the hard chair and blinked to clear his blurry vision as Florian paused yet again over a discard. He felt a shoeless foot caress his calf...and couldn't help but start in surprise. Mayles looked over at him curiously, then stared at Florian, who wore a half smile. The older man raised an eyebrow and then shifted in his seat in order to glance under the table. Doing so, he caught sight of Florian's gracefully arched foot making its way up Ray's thigh. Of course, thus distracted, he missed seeing Florian deliberately knock his wine glass over.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! _Pardon_! I must beg your indulgence for my clumsiness, my good friend, Mayles! But I was not paying attention to the placement of my glass, my mind was...on my cards...and now I have ruined this deck. We must have a new deck, I think. Yes, of a certainty. I shall forfeit this game, if you wish?"

"Not at all, my dear Rochefort, you were much too far ahead on points, I believe, before that mishap. Let us count." Mayles did a quick tally and smiled painfully. Alas, despite his best efforts, with the marked deck, no less, he wasn't able to throw that first game to the young nobleman. It was his usual practice to let the other man win the first in a best out of three situation so as to lull him into a false sense of capability. How could anyone be that bad at cards, he wondered. At least the loss of the marked deck wouldn't pose a problem. Good thing too, as the more he watched the blond, the tighter his trousers grew. There was no way he would be content with just winning money this evening. Although the young brunet's worth had proven to be surprisingly large, his mind was fixed on owning both of these beautiful young foreigners for at least the night, and longer if he could get away with it. He fully intended to end the night a far richer man. To celebrate his new wealth, he was going to take these gems up to one of Adrian's "special" rooms and taste their charms. If they proved shy about paying their non-cash debt, he had a manservant who was every bit as strong as the doorman to help restrain them. Mayles adjusted himself as unobtrusively as he could–he was a gentleman after all–and tried not to gloat too obviously.

Seeing this, Florian tried not to roll his eyes. If he needed any incentive to strengthen his resolve to keep up his pretense, he only needed to think of that oaf laying a hand on Ray. He knew that behind the drug induced haze reflected in those beautiful green eyes, the keen mind of Noir, the master thief and deadly fighter was struggling to break free of the trap that had been set for him. Florian wished there had been some occasion when he could have told Ray about his godfather, when they could have pitted their card playing skills against each other in a friendly game. Perhaps, Florian thought with an inward smile, he might even have played to win those emeralds for himself...or to lessen his debt. Not that he could ever really repay his debt to Ray.

Instead, Ray had no more idea of Florian's true skill than did the wolf in Earl's clothing, who sat opposite Florian now, with his marked deck and his drugged wine, pretending to be a fine gentleman. Well, with both aids to the Earl's "good fortune" now removed from the game, it was time for Florian to demonstrate more "luck" in his own play. He proceeded to do exactly that, with a combination of skill disguised as dumb luck and distraction appearing as audacious flirtation whenever he judged that Mayles stood a chance of winning.

"I do believe I just might have found some of that beginner's luck, although indeed, I am no beginner at this game," Florian announced with his charming smile as he took the second game. "But this is thirsty work! Do you think you could get that lovely waiter...the man, not one of those females dressed like a man, mind you, to bring another pitcher of water?" He looked coaxingly at Mayles from beneath his long lashes. Florian had given Ray as much water as he could without being too obvious. He interspersed his efforts at reviving Ray with caresses and suggestive comments aimed at arousing Mayles' libido while allaying his suspicions. Florian wanted the scoundrel to see him as nothing more than an empty headed tease...ripe for debauching.

It was a fine line Florian was walking, and he knew it. He had to seem seductive enough to interest Mayles in the first place, and yet innocent enough to inflame the man's darker nature to its utmost and thus make him toss caution to the wind. He'd been careless with Ray, as Florian suspected he normally wouldn't have attempted his tricks on an unknown quantity such as the mysterious Count Courland. Florian knew that this type of devil relied on his victim's pride keeping his own misdeeds unknown to the high circles in which he traveled. No doubt he had something on Twiningham, which made the young Lord lead likely marks to him. Someone like Ray, who was a fighter and would never forgive being cheated, was not a smart choice.

In fact, Mayles had sensed as much when that fool Twiningham first brought the man into the club. Within minutes of watching the Count's cat-like grace and his long, elegant fingers toying with the slim cigarette that perpetually hung from those shapely lips, Mayles was captivated. His mind had been filled with images of other places he wanted to see those fingers, those lips. His fantasies became all the more arousing when he realized that Courland was far younger than his poise and powerful presence suggested. Mayles found he couldn't resist the lure of those unfathomable green eyes. He didn't want to risk losing this prey so he'd given the signal for Courland's very first glass of wine to be drugged when normally he would have at least tried to win honestly. The fact that the man proved to have so very much money on him, and was so very stubborn in his play, was merely an added bonus. Ray's unusual recklessness was a boon to his plans, as normally a man like Mayles never would have been able to outwit a man who had eluded the best minds on the continent. It was just Mayles' luck that he'd caught Ray in a very bad frame of mind and with very full pockets.

Money always came in handy; Mayles pursued an expensive lifestyle. But his true goal in this encounter was the man himself. From the haunted look in Courland's lovely eyes as the cards went against him, Mayles sensed that his prize was no stranger to places where people could be bought and sold as easily as gems.

The blond was a different matter altogether. A rich dilettante, was Mayles' guess, no doubt accompanied by Courland as they traveled through the great cities of Europe. Young nobles no longer did the "Grand Tour" as a matter of course, but it was still quite acceptable for titled young men to spend the years between college and settling down, in aimless travel with their peers. The Rochefort family was an old one, and while there were some rumors about the condition of the French branch's estate, this scion of the family looked well-off. That signet ring alone was worth a pretty penny. But those jewel like eyes were what interested Mayles most. He couldn't wait to see them darkened in passion. The Duke looked young, barely out of his teens for all his poise and grand airs. The Earl smiled as he watched that nimble tongue dart out yet again to moisten those lush lips. Yes, he was going to taste those lips, he promised himself. Soon.

Watching Ray when Mayles' attention was diverted, Florian was concerned to see how pale he was. He decided he'd better bring this third and decisive game to a close as soon as possible. It would look suspicious if he suddenly were to abandon the faltering manner of play he'd adopted to lull Mayles into a false sense of superiority, but it was a fatiguing and time consuming way to play. He would have to come up with something to speed the game up. He hoped that Laila was still safely at her place in the little side room and was keeping alert. They might need to make a quick exit. The room was much emptier than it had been, with only a few men still remaining, scattered in twos and threes about the room, most of them engrossed in their own play.

It occurred to Ray, whose mind was slowly winning its fight against the effects of the drugged wine, that far from not knowing what he was doing, Florian was in fact, doing a masterful job of hustling the hustler. Over the course of the next several minutes of play, Florian made no obvious changes to his style or quality of play, yet he was managing to just barely take enough tricks to win more points than he lost. At the same time, he stepped up his teasing, one moment leaning forward so that Mayles was given a view down the now open front of his ruffled shirt, the next, stretching out his long legs so that the muscles in his thighs were displayed to advantage...not to mention the bulge that rested between those long legs. Since Florian was seated sideways, Mayles was treated to quite an eyeful as Florian lounged back against the arm of the chair and hung one leg over the side. Ray couldn't help admiring the fine show he was putting on, wondering from where his shy Amethyst was drawing the courage to act in such a manner.

If Ray only knew, Florian was pretending he was Noir, fearless, devil may care jewel thief, who laughed at danger and bowed to no man. The only problem, Florian lamented, was that the courage that was second nature to Noir was all bravado for him. He was terrified that Mayles would win, or that he would do something to Ray or himself that Florian wouldn't be able to handle. He prayed that the cards continued to fall his way and that they were permitted to leave once he won, fair and square. The presence of a few other patrons made him hope that they would be permitted to leave, money and honor intact, once this game from hell was over. He also cringed at the thought of what those men must be thinking of the Duke of Rochefort, to be acting in such a manner, but pushed that thought from his mind. He didn't care about the opinion of any man who frequented such a place any way, he told himself.

"I believe you are finding your beginner's luck...and at an opportune time," Mayles' voice was tight, as the cards continued to go against him.

"Do you think so, _mon ami_? It can be so hard to keep track..." Florian kept his voice tentative. In actuality, he was quite sure he had won already. He slipped his feet back into his shoes and used his free hand to squeeze Ray's knee warningly.

"I think so indeed. It's remarkable how much better you are faring." There was a threat implicit in the comment.

"Rather like yourself," Ray commented in a low, lazy voice.

Both Mayles and Florian stared at the green eyed man in surprise. Of course, in Florian's case it was relieved surprise, while Mayles expression was more dismayed, but Ray ignored both of them, choosing instead to examine the cards with seeming interest. His head still hurt abominably but alerted by Florian's signal that the end was near, he dug deep into his reserves of strength and nerve to assist as best he could. He sensed that his Amethyst needed some help bringing this matter to a close.

"What are you suggesting, Courland?" Mayles' tones were silky again.

The green eyes looked up, meeting the challenge. There was no hint of fogginess left in their depths, although Florian suspected that it was pure strength of will that was driving Ray now.

"I suggest nothing, Mayles, unless you are implying that there is anything untoward about my dear friend Florian experiencing the same improvement in luck that you exhibited when you played me earlier."

Florian smiled brightly and interrupted just when it looked as though Mayles would explode into violence, "Such is the way of the cards; my dear Courland is so right. A turn of the cards for you,_ mon ami_ Mayles, then a turn for me, it is all in the turn of the cards, _oui_? That is the lure, _n'est pas?_"

Mayles looked from dark green eyes to bright amethyst ones and tried to determine where he had gone wrong. The dark haired man was clearly a hardened gamester, the type of man who could best him if not hampered by unfair means, but the blond? Surely there was no more there than appeared on the surface? The French duke was an attractive but empty headed aristocrat given over to pleasures of the flesh. Mayles merely had underestimated the luck fate sometimes accorded fools. He was not going to let such a grievous miscalculation cost him a fortune, however, much less the delights of the flesh he'd been anticipating for the past several hours. Especially not after the teasing he'd been subjected to by that blond whore.

"I must congratulate you, Rochefort, on a well played game. I can see why piquet is such a favorite of yours. I hope you will do me the honor of a rematch in the near future." Mayles smiled graciously, showing all of his teeth. "Can I interest you gentlemen in a late supper while Adrian retrieves Courland's purse?"

"I fear we must be off. My poor servant must be dead on his feet and we have a riding engagement in the morning. But most certainly we shall have that rematch." Florian smiled just as pleasantly, as he added to himself, _when hell freezes over._

Ray watched with smoldering eyes as Mayles assisted Florian with his jacket, those large, beefy hands lingering as they smoothed the fine cloth down the slim body. He shrugged the man's hands away from his own shoulders, but regretted doing so as the movement made his aching head spin. Only with great effort was he able to avoid staggering...even then, it was a close call until Florian made a timely step to his side to unobtrusively steady him by linking his arm in his. .

"We take our leave now...ah, there is the lovely Adrian with my Ray's purse, _merci_." Florian reached into Ray's wallet and pulled out several pound notes for the androgynous proprietor to reward her for her services. Ray wasn't sure what the gratuity was for...drugging him or not drugging Florian but trusted Florian to know the correct etiquette for the occasion. The young man who brought the water was slipped something as well. That at least was a well deserved tip, Ray thought, grateful for the water that went a long way toward clearing his head.

As they headed toward Laila, whom they could see dozing on a gilded chair in a small anteroom, from the corner of his eye, Florian also saw Mayles beckoning to a large, ugly looking man in an ill fitting suit. Giving Ray the pleasure of waking Laila up, Florian continued to watch the two men hold a conversation, their heads bent close together. The larger of the two men nodded and walked quickly from the room. Florian didn't have a good feeling about this.

"Come on, you two," he whispered. "Time to get going before we have company on the way home."

Laila looked up at him, concern in her dark eyes as he took his hat and cane from her grasp. Even in her sleep she had kept a tight hold on them.

"Trouble?" she asked anxiously as they slipped out the door, which was no longer guarded. .

"I can't be sure but it looked like Mayles wasn't taking his loss like a gentleman...he may have been sending someone to ambush us. Ray, how close to being back to Noir are you?" The three of them walked quickly down the narrow street, which was lit only by a single gas light at the end of the block.

"As close as I need to be," was the grimly spoken response. Just then, Laila screamed as Florian was grabbed from behind and pulled into a dark alley, dropping his cane in the process. Thinking quickly, Laila snatched up the cane and tossed it to Ray, telling him in the street language of their native Morocco, _it has a sword hidden inside it...use it to save him._

True to his word, Noir, moved faster and more silently than a jungle cat, into the shadows. He freed the thin deadly sword from its sheath as he slipped behind the large man who held Florian his broad chest, his thick forearm crushing against the pale throat. A second man held a club and waved it threateningly at Laila.

"Where'd he go? Where'd the green eyed one go? The boss wants him the most, boy, so you'd better tell me where he is or it won't go too well for your pretty purple eyed friend here."

The club wielder looked down at Laila, who had crouched low, ready to attack as soon as she saw an opening.

"Maybe he is behind you?" she suggested in a mocking tone. "Why don't you turn around and look?"

"Yeah, and have you run away for help? You think we're stupid? You tell your friend to come out from wherever he's hiding or we hurt the blond, you got that? I heard you use that funny language before, you little heathen. Trying to trick an Englishman, I should whack you one just for the cheek."

"No, indeed, she made an excellent suggestion, you want me, you should have turned around," Noir said as he drove the sword deep into the man holding Florian. He wrest it clear in time to catch his gasping lover, who had been struggling for air. Meanwhile, taking advantage of the other man being distracted, Laila had no trouble rendering him unconscious and quickly tying him up.

"What do we do with these two, boss? Neither one is dead." She made the last comment rather regretfully.

Noir shrugged. "Leave them. Mayles is sure to find them. I wounded the large one seriously but he should live...man his size can bleed for awhile before he dies, mores the pity. Let's catch a taxi and get home now." He cleaned the sword off on the smaller villain's coat and sheathed it.

"Are you feeling well enough to go back to the house or do you need a doctor?" Ray asked Florian, who was still struggling to catch his breath. He was leaning quite heavily on the younger man.

"Home," he said hoarsely.

Florian was settled in bed after a warm bath and a hot cup of soothing tea. There were some skills at which a London butler excelled, he mused, and pampering one after an attack by "footpads" was one of them. He was just setting down his empty cup when Ray came into the room, toweling off his dark hair. From his appearance, he'd just finished his own hot bath. His hair was still curling damply around his face and he looked far younger than he normally did.

"So," Ray began, leaning against the bedpost, his dressing robe falling open just enough to reveal that he wasn't wearing anything else. "You were quite dashing tonight."

Florian raised an eyebrow. "You mean you aren't going to reprimand me?"

"Why would I do that?" Ray purred, letting his robe slip open a bit more as he reclined across the bottom of Florian's bed. "I got myself into trouble through admittedly rash behavior...somewhat like someone else we know often does, now that I think of it...and you came to my rescue...rather like someone else that we know usually does. It was rather like a turn of the cards when you think of it, wouldn't you say?"

Florian smiled ruefully. "I would say, especially since the cards turned back again before the adventure was over, and once again, I needed to be rescued by you."

"Ah, but you were the one who thought to have a weapon handy. I think we actually made a good team." Ray crawled up the bed, the silky robe falling from his satiny shoulders as he moved toward his prey. Florian's tongue wet his suddenly dry lips as his Amethyst eyes darkened in arousal. He found himself pinned down in the bed, the beautiful body covering him as the deep green eyes looked into his.

"You know," the deep voice said as a muscular arm reached over to dim the light on the bedside table. "You did win me for the night."

"Just one night?" Florian gasped as his neck was captured by hot searching lips and hard flesh pressed into his.

"Mmm hmm, after that, you go back to being my Amethyst. Forever."

.


End file.
